Everybody Needs A Little Kink
by Neko-chan -Silvered Tongue
Summary: My shorter fills written for the drrrkink meme on LiveJournal.
1. Chapter 1

_Title:_ Everybody Needs A Little Kink  
><em>Author:<em> Neko-chan  
><em>Fandom:<em> Durarara!  
><em>Rating:<em> PG to R  
><em>Pairing:<em> various  
><em>Summary:<em> My shorter fills written for the drrrkink meme on LiveJournal.

* * *

><p><em>Pairing:<em> Mikado/Aoba  
><em>Rating:<em> PG  
><em>Prompt:<em> Mikado/Aoba - established loving relationship  
>Anon here is tired of unrequited Aoba-Mikado.<br>So for once, she wants to see them together in an established relationship and actually be happy in it.  
>If perchance filler!non wants to make it MikadoAoba/Kida it's also okay- so long as they're all happy in the threesome relationship. All anon wants is a happy relationship. And yes- anon wants it to be pure fluff. No angst, please. Some H/C if filler!non wishes but please please please no unrequited love.  
>Smut is welcomed but not obliged.<br>Please fill this- for once, anon wants to see her request filled.

* * *

><p><strong>Daybreak<strong>

:

It is the morning light that wakes Mikado first.

He stirs slowly, lazy and sleepy. The dream world still calls to him, and it is an uphill battle to finally be able to bring himself to open his eyes. The light, filtered though it is by curtains, is enough to make him grumble in annoyance, and he turns onto his side away from it to nuzzle into the soft hair beneath his cheek.

Aoba smells like spice and orange, delicious and familiar and _his_, and the older teen can't help but smile slowly as he curls in closer-because Aoba is warm and Mikado is still trying to fight off wakefulness. He burrows in as tight as he can, slipping hands up and under the edge of the younger boy's shirt; caressing fingers over the sharp bumps of Aoba's spine, Mikado takes a moment to marvel at the fact that Aoba is here, in bed with him, and trusts him enough to sleep easy.

Their dreams are filled with contentment, and Mikado can't remember the last time that he had a nightmare.

"…mmm? Sempai?" the smaller teen asks, rubbing at an eye as Mikado's hands stroke over the sharp wing of a shoulderblade. He is rumpled and childish like this, vulnerable in a way that Mikado knows isn't easy for Aoba: the other teen has had to go his entire life learning how to be strong and cold, manipulative in the worst ways possible-constantly looking for a weakness in others so that he could take the advantage. But here… here, there is peace and quiet and trust that took a long time to build, and there is also long stretches of silence between the both of them, glances more than enough to carry on a conversation.

The reminder is enough to have Mikado loop his arms around Aoba's slim waist, and he smiles down at the other teen while a happy flush tints his cheeks with rose, and Mikado knows that he is lucky to have this, to have Aoba. "Go back to sleep," he says softly, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Aoba's boxers at the small of his back.

The look that Aoba gives Mikado is slightly dubious, but he still cuddles closer and tilts his head up just as Mikado inclines his own, each meeting the other halfway.

They kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

_Pairing:_ Shizuo/Izaya  
><em>Rating:<em> R  
><em>Prompt:<em> Shizuo x Izaya  
>Shizuo fucking Izaya's brains out.<br>BUT.  
>Write it in the perspective of Shizuo.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>To Tame a Flea<strong>

:**  
><strong>

Y'know, I never knew before why Erika-san would always be stickin' her nose into one of those BL mangas; thought that they were all trash, disgusting things that should have been burned up before they ever got the chance to see the light of day. Gross, y'know? Enough to make my hair stand on end.

I mean, I ain't some homophobe who'd try to beat the shit out of some gay dude just 'cause he liked cock instead of pussy-though, I suppose that if he owed Tom-san money, 'cause then that'd be a different story altogether… or if he managed to piss me off, too.

But that was before-me not understanding 'n' all that shit. I suppose that my original reaction was because I didn't really see the appeal in all that gay crap; I mean, I never really thought about it either way-guys or girls and sex-but the thought of a guy being with another guy was enough to make me cringe. Y'know? An instinctive reaction, I guess I'd say. Was I supposed to find images of some guy pounding into another guy hot? Was I supposed to get all hot by watching another guy's cock bob against his stomach while he got fucked hard enough that all he was capable of were these pitiful little mewls of pleasure? I mean, right there, you might as well cut off his dick and slap on a pair of tits 'cause he sure as well wasn't gonna put it to any good use.

…right?

Well, anyway, that's what I used to think. 's not that hard, in the end, to change an opinion with the right motivation; I'd always thought that, but never really had that theory put to the test-until I ended up in bed with the flea for the first time. Won't tell you how that happened, but all I gotta say is that I ain't never gonna let Shinra anywhere near open bottles of alcohol ever again. (Bastard.)

But there's something appealing about having the flea all sprawled out over my bed, legs long and lanky; usually I want nothing more than to break them so that he can't run the fuck away from me anymore while I throw whatever I can at his annoying face, but having them parted and him rubbing his hands over his thighs as he gives me that look… fuck. Still don't know if I'm torn between wanting to punch his face until that expression goes away or do something else to rip away the smugness.

Learned early on that fucking him hard into the mattress with his legs tossed over my shoulders was usually enough to distract him away from that damn self-satisfied expression. By that time, the flea was too busy begging me to fuck him harder, snarling at me when I wouldn't-'cause it's fun to be a bastard to him, still, and it doesn't matter what fucked-up relationship this now could be called-and there's something appealing in watching the flea writhe that none of Erika-san's BL could really capture. None of her crap can show just how blown the flea's pupils get the first time I thrust and push against his prostate, or the way that he tightens up and whines and… I dunno… keens? It's always this one specific sound that he makes that first time, and then he snarls and I like that 'cause it just means that this'll become yet another one of our fights.

He bites and scratches and I've lost count of the times that I've come away from the bed with my back raw and bloody from his fingernails; and, fuck, the coupla times that I wasn't paying attention and he was able to grab hold of his flickblade? Fucking pest with it and how he likes to slice me up. Still… wouldn't ever admit it aloud, but the danger that comes with fucking the flea, with him bringing his knife into play and the fighting as he tries to shove me off of him 'cause he doesn't like to be pinned-I've never gotten as hard for anyone else as hard as I've gotten for the damn flea.

And it doesn't matter that he doesn't like getting' pinned and he doesn't like losing the fight; I don't have scruples-but, then again, neither does he-and I don't have anything against using my strength to come out on top. I typically get even more cuts when the flea realizes that he's losing, but it's easy enough to distract him: he's soon enough grabbing onto the bedpost to brace himself because, otherwise, I'd be fucking him against the headboard. He's moaning my name, though, and it doesn't take long before that look comes into his eyes-he doesn't ever think that I notice, but I'm not stupid despite the fact that he calls me a protozoan-and he never says out loud, but always comes down I bite down on his collarbone when I finally come because he's _mine_.


	3. Chapter 3

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Shizuo  
><em>Rating:<em> R  
><em>Prompt:<em> Izaya/Shizuo, in that order. Those rooms labeled 'Employees Only' have many uses, don't they?  
>No dirty talk, please. I feel like I'm the only one who just can't take it seriously. OTL''<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Employees Only<strong>

:

There's a script that they both follow, even when it comes to this:

First, there are taunts crooned in a sing-song that speaks volumes, the tone a lullaby of danger and derision, utter contempt-emotions that have lasted, going strong, for too many years now. Then there comes shrieks of rage, a battlecry that echoes through the busy streets of Ikebukuro. The screams of fury, the snarled sound of the mahogany-eyed man's name, are accompanied by tearing: metal twisting and weeping in inorganic pain, the tinkling sound of glass breaking as object after item shatters against unyielding surfaces-ineffectual rage, the mountain and the mighty.

Their fights are filled with sound-too much, so much, a wave of hate that fills the city with the full-bodied orchestra, a cacophony from the feud that has lasted longer than it should ever have been allowed to live. Their battles have always been filled with mocking laughter, teased comments spoken just loud enough for the other to hear, bellowed curses, and roars that had people ducking for safe havens to ride out the warzone that the streets regularly became.

Perhaps it is because their fights are filled with such sound that their fucking is not.

There is rough-edged touch, fingernails scraping painfully over sweat-slickened bodies: there is pleasure in pain and pain in pleasure, with both blurring, one into the other, and it becomes so entwined that a single bite just there is now enough to make them come; there is, too, muted panting and the jarring sound of skin slapping against skin from the force of each thrust.

The door trembles at a particularly vicious push, the 'Employees Only' sign shuddering as Shizuo's body slams against the wood, and the bartender can do nothing except bite down on his forearm to hold back both the pleasure and the curse that want to escape: he must remain silent, however, for the sound of humanity just on the other side of the door is quiet enough that they will hear if he cannot keep himself mute. Izaya knows this, and this is why he chuckles breathlessly as he thrusts once more, slamming Shizuo once more against the door and making sure that his cock presses deep enough to hit the blonde's prostate.

He's a bastard, but Shizuo knows that, too-has known that from the very beginning, and he hates the brunette, he really does. But that dark emotion doesn't stop them from doing this-fucking, hard, silent and rough the way that they can with one another-and there's a sort of thrill to the animalistic pleasure that comes when Izaya braces his hands on either side of Shizuo's head and rides the bartender, pounding into him and forcing Shizuo to push back and away from the door because, otherwise, their bodies would be rocking regularly against the thin wood of the door and the sounds would be enough to garner an investigation.

It's when Izaya becomes particularly vicious in his fucking that Shizuo knows that the other is close to orgasm-and the informant bites down at the juncture between neck and collarbone, that spot that makes Shizuo come almost helplessly, strangled gasps slipping past parted lips as one hand comes around to dig fingernails cruelly into the arch of Izaya's hip-revenge, in a way, but it forces the other to bury himself one last time, coming hard as his teeth sink deeper into skin to muffle himself.

Shizuo doesn't often bruise, but Izaya has learned the trick and likes leaving behind reminders of his time spent in Ikebukuro-reminders that rub unerringly against the collar of Shizuo's shirt, reminders that linger with every movement that the bartender makes.

Shizuo hates the reminders, though-hates the possessive claim that they represent, hates the fact that they're symbols for this fucked up relationship that he has with Izaya (lovelusthateI'llkillyou), but he still can't stop himself from loving the adrenaline rush that comes with it, too: the threat of being caught as Izaya fucks him in the employees' locker at his newest job or him fucking Izaya down in some alleyway in the bad part of the city, the brunette's flickblade held to his jugular as challenge flares in too-red eyes.

It's _fucked up_, he knows. Really, he does.

But he doesn't care anymore.

As Izaya begins to pull out, Shizuo's fingernails score red lines over the slim man's hip and thigh, drawing blood in some parts; the gesture does nothing but bring a hooded smile to Izaya's face, and Shizuo knows that, next time, Izaya will ensure that he bleeds in retaliation. Fucked up, messed up, dangerously twisted: but normal doesn't work for either of them, but this-this works. Somehow.

Izaya tucks himself back into his pants, Shizuo following, both of their movements efficient with long practice; the information broker leaves then, the 'Employees Only' door swinging shut behind him, and Shizuo heads towards the back of the locker room to light up, taking advantage of what was left of his break.


	4. Chapter 4

_Pairing:_ Shinra/Celty  
><em>Rating:<em> PG  
><em>Prompt:<em> Shinra/Celty - marriage, death  
>This anon would like to see a fic where Shinra and Celty are longtime married. However, it is in the future and Shinra, who is very old by now, is on the verge of dying. As someone with a very long lifespan, how does Celty react as the one she loves is about to die?<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I Lay Me Down To Sleep<strong>

:

Kishitani Shinra is eighty-four years old, and he is dying.

This doesn't come as a surprise to either the elderly doctor or his 'fae wife, but it is a moment that fills Shinra with muted sorrow-pain from his stuttering heart making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the sheer will to exist just a little bit longer, a minute more, please don't let it end just yet. This moment, however, has already shifted into the long-stretching blur of eternity: it has been too many years since Celty has last acknowledged the fact that she is immortal, and the reminder-now, with Shinra's fingers wrapped tight and shivering around her own, his wedding band digging into the palm of her hand-is heart-breaking.

She cannot stop this, no matter how desperately she wishes that she could.

This is her role, however, and it is one that she has ignored for decades. She is Unseelie, and she was created by Danu to pave the way, to ride the roads and to bring humanity to their final rest. She, like death, was not created to be stopped, nor was she made to be gainsaid. Kishitani Celty, nee Sturluson, is a Gan Ceann, a Dullahan, and never has she prayed more fervently than to be human.

She trails her fingers over Shinra's ring, his wedding ring, simple though it is, and wishes that she had eyes so that she might cry, a mouth so that she might kiss her husband's mouth, ears to hear his Good-bye. But she has none of these things, only touch, and so she tightens her hold upon Shinra's fingers and brings their clasped hands up so that she might press his palm over her heart.

It is breaking, tearing in two, and she knows that when Shinra is dead, her heart will be, too. He is the one, after all, who taught her to appreciate what it meant to be human, to live-and she has lived, though it has been on borrowed time, but now it is time to pay the dues owed to Inevitability. It doesn't seem very fair, now, when it's too little too late, that the vows given are till death do us part-with Shinra mortal and Celty not.

They are both quiet, Shinra completely silent except for the shallow breaths that he occasionally took, and she remembers-distantly, so long ago, back in the vert-bright-green of Ireland-hearing the soft crooning of a grieving woman, singing for her lost love-

_Thug mi gaol, thug mi gaol  
>Thug mi gaol don fhear bhàn<br>Agus gealladh dhutsa, luaidh  
>O cha dual dhomh bhith slàn<em>

For Celty, too, has given love, given love to this fair one, and she, too, is far from being well-for Shinra is dying and, oh, his eyes finally close and his chest does not rise again. And, staring down sightlessly at Shinra too-still body, the Dullahan cannot help but ask herself, Why?

She feels lost.

Why?

Why did this have to happen?

(But she already knows the answer.)

:

The bike trembles between her legs, roaring in muted, familiar fury as it finally surged forward, taking off as it was wont to do when Celty let her hold remain lax and the reins fell loosely upon the hellhorse's neck. The Unseelie creature and its rider sped off into the night, the world blurring about them both as they rode to join the Wild Hunt.

-for Celty Sturluson is a Dullahan and she must do what she was born to do, the role that she has ignored for over three quarters of a century now, and thus she once again takes up her mantle and rides with Death… no matter how empty she feels inside.


	5. Chapter 5

_Pairing:_ Shiki/Shizuo  
><em>Rating:<em> PG  
><em>Prompt:<em> Shiki x Shizuo Make it fluffy.  
>Shiki treats Shizuo to a parfait.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Berry Stained<strong>

:

"Parfait" meant "perfect" in French.

It was also the name of a French sweet that Shizuo had developed a particular fondness for, and it was easy enough for him to see why people had named the treat "perfect" because, in his opinion, it pretty much was. Each bite had loads of different levels of sweetness, and the berries' various tastes lingered long on the tip of his tongue in a fresh sort of way, not thick or too-sharp the way that chocolate from certain pocky brands sometimes did.

Shizuo liked everything about a parfait, though he hadn't felt that way the first time he'd tried it: the presentation looked too girlish for him, and he knew that he'd feel more comfortable sticking with his familiar pocky (though, if he was honest with himself, that might have had something to do with the fact that pocky sticks were easily snapped in half and discarded when Shizuo's temper also equally broke-and pocky was cheap, which was kinda a necessity when the blonde was required to consider his likes and dislikes). Before the decision to dislike the French treat had had the chance to settle deeply into his worldview, however, Shiki had reached out, firmly grasped Shizuo's jaw between several fingers, and ordered in that tone of voice that nobody ever disobeyed (not even the flea), "Eat."

The command caused Shizuo's cheeks to flush, both in irritation and in flustered embarrassment, but did as he was ordered.

There was still trepidation, and the blonde could at least admit this to himself-but there was a knowing look in Shiki's eyes that the older man typically only got when they were in bed, and... well. Shizuo had discovered early on that Shiki had an almost psychic ability in pinpointing Shizuo's weaknesses to target, much to the debt collector's chargin-and pleasure. It was an almost odd thing to say, that Shizuo trusted Shiki, but the brunette's uncanny way of being aware of exactly what Shizuo liked hadn't been far off the mark yet.

So Shizuo had cautiously taken that bite...

And it had been delicious.

When the blonde had finally finished the light confection, Shiki had leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, and the look that he had given to Shizuo oozed complacent smugness. "Well?" he asked, already aware of what the resulting answer would be-and though the smugness spiked a small surge of irritation within the blonde... Shiki really was too good at what he did.

"It was good. I liked it," Shizuo admitted as he glanced away, not wanting to look up and meet the supercilious emotion within the elder's gaze. "...thanks."

Shizuo could feel the tips of his ears pinkening as he reached across the table separating him from the yakuza boss; careful not to wrinkle the expensive Italian material, the blonde wrapped Shiki's tie around his fist and tugged so that he could guide the older man closer. Gesture still hesitant despite their time in bed with one another, Shizuo brushed a brief kiss against the elder's mouth before pulling away.

Shiki's mouth was stained from the juice of the parfait's fruit, and the taste of ripe berries lingered much, much longer than he had originally expected even with the simple, chaste kiss that he had been given.

Licking his lips, the boss slowly smirked before drawing Shizuo in closer once more for a deeper, more thorough kiss-all the while thinking, "_Perfect_, indeed."


	6. Chapter 6

**ONE SENTENCE PORN FICS** – Part One  
><em>Paring:<em> various  
><em>Rating:<em> R  
><em>Prompt:<em> Any pairing - One sentence porn fics.

* * *

><p><strong>ShikiIzaya - a game of advantage**  
>There is a touch-and-go dance between the two of them, each trying their hardest to outmaneuver the other: it's a dance and a game, both, each toying with the lives around them to ensure that they come out on top-a <em>game<em> to finally manipulate the other into a corner to _submit_, and it is when Izaya's eyes close and his hips arch upwards to meet the torturously slow thrusts that Shiki knows that he has finally _won_.

**Izaya/Shizuo - just sex**  
>"This is just fucking; I'd never bring myself to love a <em>beast<em> like you, Shizu-chan~" Izaya murmurs against the shell of Shizuo's ear, pinning the blonde belly down upon the bed so that the debt collector wouldn't be able to reach low to stroke himself to climax-and yet, despite the cruelty of the informant's words, his thumb still makes a point, subconscious as it might be, to press down possessively over Shizuo's left ring finger as the svelte man thrust forward to bury himself to the hilt in tight, slick heat.

**Shiki+Izaya/Shizuo - helpless**  
>There is something so terribly erotic about watching Shiki and Shizuo kiss: the Awakusu-kai boss always smirks just before his fingers tangle in the blonde's tie, dragging him closer so that their mouth's clash-hot and wet and dominant in the way that each fights for control; but Shiki is older and more experienced and feels no shame in cheating as his fingers work quickly at Shizuo's waistband, unsnapping buttons and letting his trousers sag about his hips, making room for Izaya-who eases down to his knees and moves between their bodies to swallow that thick erection downdown<em>down<em>, chuckling all the while, and Shizuo is finally, _finally _helpless for them.

**Roppi/Tsuki - confessions**  
>Silence descends between the both of them, and Tsuki can't help but look away with cheeks so starkly flushed against his otherwise pale skin; he burrows his face against the soft wool of his scarf, shifting <em>just so<em>-enough so that the light bounces off of his glasses to mask the expression in his gaze; but time only comes to a standstill when Roppi, surprisingly, reaches out to cup his face between the brunette's hands, drawing the blonde closer for an equally surprising kiss as he murmurs, "Well… maybe there's _one_ human that I don't really mind."

**Shizuo/Izaya - hatesex**  
>They fuck each other because they hate each other and because it's easier to get exactly what you want when you don't necessarily care about the other person's pleasure; there's something just as equally satisfying, too, when one bows his back and clings to the other, fingernails digging into smooth skin, and crying out in a release that had been fought against but still was forced from him-because the sex is just that good.<p>

**Sebastian Michaelis/Izaya - Faust**  
>Izaya had always thought that the phrase "selling one's soul to the devil" had always been tritely contrived, coined by superstitious humans who were afraid of a God that didn't exist and couldn't see the inherit beauty that lay within humanity; but as the crimson-eyed demon thrust into him, slamming into his prostate and dragging inarticulate cries from the informant as pleasure-so much pleasure-crested and surged within him, Izaya realized for the first time why it was so worthwhile to cross palms with the Devil, no matter how the demon's snakelike smile brought chills to Izaya's spine.<p>

**Shiki/Shizuo - control**  
>Shiki's always been about control: control of his yakuza group, control of his finances, control of the information willingly leaked to Orihara-kun, control of every aspect, every detail of his life; fucking's no different, and it would certainly be a surprising sight for many to see Heiwajima Shizuo, the Beast of Ikebukuro, on his hands and knees, grappling for some sort of support as Shiki thrust into him-hard and rough and still so restrained with hands resting upon slim hips to guide the blonde back to meet each and every surge forward.<p>

**Psyche/Izaya - skewed perceptions**  
>In the <em>outside world<em>, people had the impression that Izaya was the twisted and cold-hearted one while Psyche was always happily smiling, bubbly personality so incredibly immersed in whatever it was that had currently caught his fancy; here, though, in the _bedroom_... it was here that Izaya knew better, and he strained his hips upwards, cock bobbing against his belly, and begged for a sweetly cruel Psyche to _please _take the ring off and finally let him come.

**Izaya/Shizuo - flickblade**  
>Shizuo had always thought that he was pretty vanilla in bed: missionary was always his favorite position, and had had scoffed derisively at past suggestions of toys; despite accusations of him being slow and as intelligent as some dumb beast, the blonde had always been a quick learner-and he had learned, early on, that there was nothing vanilla about sex with Izaya: it was always a game of dominance, of will, of sustainability and the strength to resist temptation-unfortunately, though, Izaya oftentimes cheated, but Shizuo couldn't help but like the feeling of his legs spread far apart with the flea thrustthrustthrusting-hard and rough and with enough force to repeatedly slam Shizuo down against the mattress-between his thighs, and that damn flickblade held to his throat to ensure that Shizuo remained submissive enough for Izaya's twisted tastes.<p>

**Izaya/Shizuo - flickblade v.2.0**  
>Sex with Izaya is as deadly as it is pleasurable: Shizuo never knows when the flea feels like indulging in one of his moods, and the consequences of those moods usually end with Shizuo bloody, sore, and drifting in the afterglow of one of the best orgasms he's had in years; today's one of those days, and the Beast of Ikebukuro knows that it's best to hold very, very still as Izaya trails the razor-fine edge of his flickblade over the faint line of hair that goes from Shizuo's navel to his groin-all while leisurely sucking the blonde off, mouth stretching wide around Shizuo's thick cock, and yet it still comes as a surprise when teeth scrape over sensitive skin in an almost teasing manner and the blade manages to draw blood when Shizuo flinches: and Shizuo knows that he'll be carrying yet another mark from the flea that might as well say, <em>Mine<em>.

**Shizuo/Kasuka - hush**  
>"Shhhh..." Kasuka whispered quietly, warm breath caressing softly over the thin skin of Shizuo's thigh; the sounds of their parents talking to one another, front door opening and shutting, echoed faintly through the house-and Shizuo pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries as his little brother once more dipped his head to lick a wet trail up the underside of the blonde's cock before once more sealing around the flushed head, and then there was heatwetwarmthdeliciousteeth<em>ohfuckyessssssss<em>.

**Shiki+Shizuo/Izaya - voyeur**  
>Pleasure had forever been a nice diversion for Shiki, but never a true necessity; it was with this acknowledgment in the forefront of his mind that he leaned back, knees falling open as his fingers idly pumped his erection, and smirked slightly as he watched Izaya impale himself over and over and over again on Shizuo's cock-the blonde sliding in and out of Izaya's tight heat in such a way that made Shiki's own aching erection twitch-before the younger brunette finally realized that Shiki had no intention of touching him and granting Izaya his denied release.<p>

**Shinra/Celty - motorcycle**  
>They ride through Ikebukuro in a blurred streak of darkness-made-present and Shinra's lab coat flaps behind the both of them, the only bit of not-color to break the monotony of their entwined limbs: Celty holds on tight to the bars of her motorcycle, the sometimes revving of the engine not always intentional, and she can't help but shudder and arch against the fingers that Shinra had so expertly slipped down her snug pants, fingertips parting her to push within while his thumb rubbed her unerringly to orgasm.<p>

**Shizuo/Mikado - hung like a horse**  
>Sex with Shizuo is always like this: Mikado finds himself shuddering at the pain, back bowing in protest at the intrusion as the blonde man slowly began to push forward-spreading Mikado open, forcing himself in as the svelte boy beneath him scrabbled desperately at the covers to hold onto something, anything, because it hurts-dear God, it <em>hurts<em>-but it _hurts so good_, and Mikado has grown addicted to the feeling of being absolutely _filled _beyond measure.

**Izaya/Shizuo - Burlesque**  
>The corset was silk-satin and sugar-spice beneath Shizuo's fingertips, and he skimmed his touch along the edge of it, callouses catching on the lace as the brunette flashed a too-bright smile towards the taller man; he hooked a leg over Shizuo's hip before easing the flat of his foot down a muscled thigh and calf, limbs tangling and twining-and when Shizuo leaned forward to steal a kiss, the dancer slipped away with a laugh, caroling over his shoulder, "Everything you dream of-but never can possess~"<p>

**Izaya/Harry Potter - "Wanna see my wand~?"**  
>When the green-eyed man had come up to Izaya in the bar and had, with a secretly amused smile, asked the informant if he wanted to see his wand, Izaya had originally believed that he had just been privy to a Kida-worth pick-up line; later on that night, however, the Japanese man came to the conclusion that being a wizard must definitely come with some perks because fucking the man who had introduced himself as "Harry Potter" senseless-<em>while floating at least ten feet off of the ground<em>-certainly made sex interesting.

**Tom Riddle/Izaya - exceptions**  
>He hated Muggles: hated their simplicity, their baseness, their unoriginality, the dull sheen that reflected back at him from their gazes; but… he couldn't help but amend that soul-deep hatred to include at least one exception as the crimson-eyed informant settled back onto his cock, letting him sink deeper and deeper still, all while a malicious glint sparked hotly in his eyes and a too-sharp smile curled his lips upwards in a crocodile's grin: <em>this<em> was a Muggle that he could understand all too well, and the svelte Japanese man understood this as he purred out an indolent, "Tom~"

**Shiki+Shizuo/Izaya - fire and ice**  
>There's something addicting, Izaya discovers early on, about taking the two most dangerous men in Ikebukuro to bed: with superhuman muscles rippling in the moonlight tinted light that peeks in through their open window, Shizuo manages to be the sunshine to Shiki's glacial ice: eyes sharp enough to cut as the older man tugs Izaya close for a kiss while the blonde carefully eases two fingers into the tight heat of the informant's body.<p>

**Shizuo/Izaya - horoscopes**  
>The horoscope had read "You're in your element, Taurus - Today you'll find yourself extremely compatible with someone that you would have never otherwise expected: the Aquarius may come to surprise you," and Izaya had laughed his ass off for a good ten minutes afterwards; however, it was several hours later that the broker had come to decide that horoscopes were no laughing matter: he was pinned to the wall of an alleyway, back bowed upwards in mind-blowing pleasure, and yet still managing to snarl at Shizu-chan to hurry it up and <em>fuck him properly or he'd show the blonde how to do it right<em>.

**Shizuo/Mikado - deep throating**  
>It didn't really seem to matter to Mikado that he had been practicing before now-purposefully looking for toys that had both length and girth, hoping that it would be enough; it wasn't, though, and his throat tightened and spasmed around Shizuo's cock as the younger boy attempted to deepthroat him-but it still felt <em>so good<em> that Mikado kept on trying until he could finally close his lips around the base of the blonde's cock; and when Mikado began to gently suck, tongue curling over the underside of the other's erection, the look of complete abandonment upon Shizuo's face made all the practice worth it.

**Aoba/Shizuo - "I always get what I want."**  
>"I always get what I want," Aoba murmurs with his ever-present, too-angelic smile-all before biting down at the bend of Shizuo's throat to leave behind a bruise, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of the older man's trousers with fingers wrapping around the blonde's cock to stroke him to hardness.<p>

**Izaya/Shizuka - stiletto heels**  
>Izaya never really got the chance to see Shizuka dress up and the realization had come to bother him, even if he never admitted it aloud: she owned very few extravagant things, preferring simple business attire when there was no other choice but to wear something "nice;" she couldn't get away with that for Shinra and Celty's engagement party, however, and the heels that she had shown up in had distracted the informant for the entire night; now, with the stilettos pressing into the small of his back with every thrust, Izaya came to the conclusion that the rest of the clothes didn't matter-just as long as she always wore that pair of fuck-me-now heels.<p>

**Boss!Kado/Shizuo - true faces**  
>Erika had always gushed over how moe Mikado always was when he was around Shizuo: blushing and speaking softly and with downturned eyes, too shy to look upwards and face the otaku's teasing head-on; but as the tall blonde leaned down to brush a kiss to the corner of the boy's mouth after a light tug at his bow tie, Shizuo couldn't still that giveaway shiver as the brunette took control of the kiss and gently bit the debt collector's lower lip before drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth: there were many masks that Mikado wore, but the way that Shizuo could feel the boy's lips curve into a pleased smile as Shizuo shifted closer… ah, that was perhaps his truest face of all.<p>

**Sebastian Michaelis/butler!Shizuo - mirror, mirror**  
>The tailcoat had been-at one time-neatly pressed; now, however, it was hanging lewdly off of one shoulder, baring tanned skin for the other's (quite literally) sinful mouth to abuse: with head tilted back, Shizuo let go of inhibitions and gave himself over to pleasure: teeth scraping against his throat while a thick cock buried itself to the hilt within his tight heat-and the butler was left vulnerable in a way that he had never thought possible as he met a pair of hellfire-tainted eyes in the glass of the mirror, and the demon did nothing but smile like pure Sin as he thrust forward, cock pressing firm against Shizuo's prostate, and the blonde's mind stuttered into a void of white.<p>

**Izaya/Shizuo - scars**  
>Izaya trailed the tip of his tongue over the scar that crossed Shizuo's chest, sealing his lips to suckle idle at a nipple that had been partially bisected by the brunette's flickblade all those years ago-and he bit, hard, to bruise tanned skin as Shizuo's breath hitched above him, and Izaya's fingers continued to slowly caress over the scar that was a permanent mark; Izaya's ever-present, ever-constant, ever-<em>possessive<em> stake that would never, ever fade: _**Mine.**_

**Shizuo/Izaya - picturesque**  
>The stick of charcoal skimmed over the blank sketchbook page, lines thicker near the sharp arch of the model's hip before finally tapering down to thin, graceful strokes near the man's feet: it was a nice silhouette, stark and perfectly edged in all the right places-perfect without clothes ruining the aristocratic lines; Shizuo smiled absently to himself before finally lifting his gaze from his art book-stilling instantly when the crimson-tinted, heated eyes of the model met his own, caught his own, and the artist found himself spellbound as the nude model straddled his lap and drew his head down for a kiss.<p>

**Izaya/Yuugi Mutou+Yami no Yuugi - games **  
>Izaya had heard lots of things about Domino City: there was a darkness that had descended upon the sprawling metropolitan area, drawing so many people-one after one after one-into the ever-shifting twilight of a world of shadows; he had gone to investigate, curious but disbelieving the rumors that he had come across-until the mahogany-eyed information broker had stumbled across the current Yuugiou, a man who held two shadows: one violet-eyed and the other crimson, and Izaya could feel the slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he said, "Feel like playing a game~?"<p>

**Shizuo/Naruto Uzumaki - ceilings**  
>It had been, as most of these things went, completely Shinra's fault: but Shizuo had discovered that blessings could truly be mixed, and-for the first time in his life-he found himself able to really help another person by using his monstrous strength; and good things eventually came to those who wait, and Shizuo found himself genuinely happy as he slowly thrust into the orange-clad Hokage sprawled out upon his desk while Naruto grinned like a loon-because their lovemaking was lighthearted and playful and them, shown when the flexible ninja shifted to draw Shizuo in deeper with a low, pleased growl, and then managed to whisper against the shell of the taller blonde's ear, "Ne, ne… ever wanted to try doing it on the <em>ceiling<em>?"


	7. Chapter 7

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Shizuo [hints toward]  
><em>Rating:<em> PG-13  
><em>Prompt:<em> Izaya finds Drrrkink.

* * *

><p><strong>The Many Uses of Google<strong>

:

An information broker must always be at the top of his game. Izaya had been known as "the best" for several years now, and he had discovered early on that he had a particular genius and flair for his brand of work-and had come across the realization early on, too, that it was always best to also keep track of not only what people were saying about each other, but what people were saying about you.

Thus, Izaya oftentimes looked up his name on various search engines, skimming through forum posts, blog sites, chatroom logs, and Twitter, filing away all of the despair-ridden messages in his highly entertained little brain. However, despite the fact that he regularly checked up on what other people said about him, it took the crimson-eyed broker several years to consider that it might actually be worthwhile to look up his name in romaji.

Pulling up a new browser and opening Google-but keeping track of the chatroom in the background (can't have Kanra-chan lose track of the conversation when she was the prime source for all sorts of delicious gossip!)-Izaya switched over to the Western character option on his computer, frowning slightly as he typed in the "I" before searching for the Western "Z." He eventually found it, but not before deciding to add it to the list of things that he didn't like, putting it beneath Shizu-chan but above the eyes of a dead fish.

After finishing up with the rest of the letters and clicking Search, the brunette spun idly in his chair, grinning broadly as hit after hit came up-how scandalous; someone on Facebook was pretending to be him!-Izaya couldn't help but pause for a moment when one specific hit caught his attention:

**DRRRKINK**

It wasn't the link, however, that had caught his attention-but what lay beneath it, the brief summary of what one would come across on the site, and the more that he read, the wider Izaya's eyes became.

_"Sh-Shizu-chan," Izaya groaned, head tilting back to bare his throat so that the Beast of Ikebukuro would nip his way over the pale skin of his jugular_

Two lines. Two lines to give an indication as to what the searcher would find on the site-and Izaya had the dawning realization that the "kink" in DRRRKINK would be related to sexual kinks.

...but...

This would also be the perfect opportunity for Izaya to study, to observe, his wonderful humans some more; this would be the best chance that he might get to read about the secret, sexual desires that his humans had but were too afraid to admit in a face-to-face scenario! Excited by this prospect, Izaya clicked on the link to see what it was that his precious humans fantasized about.

Hours later, Izaya came to several conclusions:

One, that his humans were, in fact, incredibly kinky.  
>Two, his pants were rather tight and he needed a cold shower.<br>Three,

...perhaps these "a!a"s had noticed something about Shizu-chan that he had otherwise missed before because, apparently, the Beast was just as much a one in bed-but in such a way that Izaya might actually appreciate. After his shower, he'd track down the monster and see if there was any truth to all of those posts.

(Though he'd sooner slit his own throat with his flickblade before ever bottoming for that brute.)

Humming to himself, Izaya clicked on Post Comment, closed out the browser completely, and then skipped (awkwardly, due to his rather uncomfortable erection) to the bathroom and the shower that awaited him within.

_Izaya/Shizuo - Izaya putting the Beast on a leash_


	8. Chapter 8

_Pairing:_ Shizuo/Izaya; Izaya/Shizuo  
><em>Rating:<em> PG-13  
><em>Prompt:<em> Shizuo/Izaya  
>Izaya and Shizuo BOTH gain immortality.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Peregrinate - 'Till Death Do Us Part<strong>

:

Time had been kind to them.

But perhaps that was because Time had frozen them both at the still-youthful age of twenty-six.

Time had also seen fit to mellow them, quieting the heat of one's temper while softening the constant self-interest of the other. Or, perhaps, it was not necessarily Time that had mellowed them into their present forms and, perhaps, it was instead the sole fact that they only had one another. Time had marched forever onwards for those around the two of them, Death opening its arms wide in an embrace to take away friends and family and with grief hurrying the last back towards her home in Ireland.

Once upon a time ago, they had hated each other. One wanted nothing more than to kill the other, eradicating his presence from the world-believing that someone as cruelly smiling shouldn't be allowed to exist. And the other, too, was just as bad: seeing the first as something less than human, a dumb beast that didn't deserve to live amongst the humans that he so cherished, desired to see the look on the blonde's face as he was finally put down like the monster he was.

Once upon a time ago, they had hated.

But time had the tendency to skew things; the Earth continued to spin and spin and spin, forever turning as the seasons blurred into one another, a long, marching ever onwards numbering of years that both had lost track of centuries ago. What was the point in counting anymore when their state of being became mutable, the single constant in the universe's equation that contained billions of variables? They were alive, had always been alive, would always remain alive: there was no changing this fact, even when the blonde had finally succumbed to despair and heart wrenching loss and wanted to consign himself to the oblivion that he had lost his brother to.

He watched his blood trickle over his hands, drip-drop-dripping off of the tips of his fingers, and he did not die. The other had found him hours later with hands covered in blood that had gone cold and gummy, congealing in a sticky mess over tanned skin, and watched as the blonde settled at the edge of the rooftop to watch the skyline of the city that was changing with each passing year, each beat of their hearts, with each blink of their eyes.

The world was shifting, growing older with every moment, and they remained stagnant. Unchanged.

Once upon a never ago, the crimson-eyed one reached out for the first time and hooked his fingers around the index and middle fingers of the other's hand, ignoring the tacky mess that covered the blonde's hand. He did not look at the blonde, and the blonde did not acknowledge his enemy's presence.

"Ne, Shizu-chan," the brunette began, both watching as the many men and women below worked on yet another skyscraper, one of the many that had begun to obscure the stars in the night sky. "The more that time passes, the more that I've come to realize that it wasn't death that I was afraid of. It was living. Funny, isn't it~?"

Once upon a time ago:

"I hate you-so much-for doing this to us. I never wanted this. I never wanted this," the blonde whispered in answer, and his face slowly crumpled in sorrow as the city rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell in predictable waves around them, metal gleaming beneath a bright sun before falling away to rust and decay. "God, I hate you for doing this to me."

But he did not let go of the other man's hand.

_Once upon a never ago_, the blonde yanked at the other's grip, drawing the crimson-eyed monster close-sharing heat, clinging to the only other constant in an ever-changing timestream, holding tight to the only thing that was now familiar when only strangers' faces surrounded them, they both took comfort in their hatred.

And, _perhaps_, their love.

But that was once upon a never ago.


	9. Chapter 9

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Shizuo  
><em>Rating:<em> PG-13  
><em>Prompt:<em> izaya taking shizuo`s cigarette from ashtray and exhale it

* * *

><p><strong>Thank You For Smoking<strong>

:

It was a long day for Shizuo and, by the time that he got back to his small, spartan apartment, there were only three thoughts prevalent within his mind: he wanted (read: _needed_) a shower, he wanted one of the bottles of imported beer that Tom-san had given to him the week before, and he wanted a smoke. The last wasn't so much "wanted" as "desperately required," the nicotine craving having worsened over the course of several hours; Tom-san had decided on a "no smoking while on the clock (yes, Shizuo, this means you)" rule after his newest girlfriend had started lecturing him on the dangers of secondhand smoking.

Hell, it was _Japan_. Everyone here was gonna die of secondhand smoke.

With this thought in the forefront of Shizuo's mind, the blonde shook his head in bemusement and toed off his shoes, tossing his keys onto the small table that he had set aside to place them, his wallet, and his phone upon, and then padded with sock-covered feet into the minuscule kitchen to grab a bottle of Calanda Edelbräu from the fridge. He couldn't pronounce the beer's name, but all that mattered to Shizuo was that it tasted good enough-and the Swiss beer managed to fulfill that criteria.

Twisting off the cap to the top, the debt collector took a swig from the bottle and made his way towards the equally tiny living room, flopping down on the couch as Shizuo then propped his feet up on the coffee table that he kept just for that sole purpose. It was an old, beat-up thing, the furniture obviously a survivor of many past abuses-ironically enough, none that Shizuo had gifted it with, since the blonde had found the table on the side of the road and it had already come to him looking as-is. But it served its purpose and, since no one came to Shizuo's apartment, he didn't really give a damn as to what the battered thing looked like.

He sighed and leaned back against the couch's back, swilling once more from his bottle before tapping one of his cigarettes from its package: head tilting back to settle against the top of the touch, Shizuo lit the slim stick with ease that came from years of too much addiction, then brought the cigarette up to his mouth to take a drag from it. He inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke into his lungs, and let his eyes lid comfortably to half-mast as he finally exhaled, the smoke trickling slowly past his lips and mouth to weave abstract patterns in the air.

The soothing tang of the nicotine as it entered his system coaxed Shizuo to release the tension from his body: muscles uncoiled one by one, and the lanky blonde allowed himself to idly relax completely against the firm cushions of the couch. For the first time since the start of the day, Shizuo could finally feel himself unwind completely.

"Ah~ Shizu-chan~ I didn't expect you to be home already!"

…and, just as suddenly, the tension once more returned.

Well, _fuck_.

Shizuo slowly turned his head to the side to meet the pair of too-red eyes-eyes that had become his own form of a personal hell since the day that Shinra had decided to introduce him to Orihara Izaya. He scowled at the informant, brows furrowing in irritation, and yet…

It had been too long of a day at work, and Shizuo felt too relaxed-with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other-to gather together the energy to kick the flea's ass from here to kingdom come. It irked him that the rage that he usually felt towards the brunette was currently muted, but the damn louse had-in typical, annoying Izaya fashion-somehow managed to time his arrival, slipping back into Shizuo's day in a usual pest-like way when the debt collector couldn't be bothered with gathering the energy required to throw a couch (or ten) or fridge (or twenty) at the louse's goddamn head.

"Go to hell," the blonde decided to answer instead, figuring that this was perhaps the most diplomatic reply that he had ever graced Izaya with (and, thus, the pest should feel honored with Shizuo's unheard of "tact"). "And get the fuck out of my apartment, you damn flea."

The reply was one that Izaya hadn't expected (but, then again, what was new when it came to his interactions with Shizu-chan?), and it showed in the surprised blink that the information broker allowed himself before a slow, wicked smile tugged idly at the corners of his mouth. "Ahn~ As verbose as ever, Shizu-chan: But, then again, why would I have ever expected a protozoan such as yourself to be capable of saying anything without every other word being a dirty one, mmm? You're such a _beast_, Shizu-chan!"

Instead of immediately answering (either verbally or-per usual-physically), Shizuo rolled his head back to its original position, staring up at the ceiling as he brought his cigarette up to his mouth to take yet another drag from the slim stick. It was hard to fight the instinct to snap it in half and stomp on it before throttling the annoyance to death, but the temptation of nicotine after too many hours without it… So Shizuo took the immediate temptation of the cigarette over the regularly indulged temptation of watching Izaya run (typically cackling) through the city streets as the blonde tossed machine after machine after his skinny, lifeblood-sucking ass.

God, he hated the louse. He really, really did.

For Izaya, however, this encounter was getting stranger and stranger: where was his stereotypical Shizu-chan, the protozoan who could never resist the chance to scream his fury at the information broker, tossing a variety of objects (though usually leaning towards trash cans, vending machines, and a scattering of stop signs) at him? This Shizu-chan seemed almost… mellow. Relaxed and uncaring. As if Izaya couldn't possibly be capable of getting under his skin! That thought, the chance that Shizuo didn't even seem to care that Izaya had invaded his personal space… it rankled the brunette. He didn't like the feeling, not at all: since day one, Shizu-chan always, always reacted to Izaya.

The fact that the blonde was currently acting surprisingly _blasé_about Izaya's presence…?

Emotion flashed in the brunette's mahogany eyes, and Izaya made his easy way over to the currently sprawled-out debt collector. Irritating Izaya further, Shizuo didn't even react to the movement-instead, the blonde just continued to idly take occasional drags from his cigarette, washing down the taste of smoke with mouthfuls of his beer.

Even despite the fact that Shizuo was lazily settled against the couch, he still wasn't given much time before the familiar snick of the flick blade echoed too-loud in his apartment, and the information broker held the razor-sharp blade to the blonde's jugular, a smile that would have fit on a demon's face deepening the brunette's mouth.

"Flea! The hell…?" Shizuo snapped, relaxed contentedness forgotten; he tensed beneath the other's threat, knowing that it was better not to move-not with Izaya's knife that close to his artery. Normally, the blade wasn't that much of a threat to Shizuo and he easily managed to dodge almost anything that the other tended to throw at him, but… this was still a bit too close for comfort. He shifted subtly, then abruptly froze when the blade pressed closer and drew blood. Izaya was serious in this threat, and Shizuo's eyes burned with too-late fury.

Pleased that he currently had Ikebukuro's beast tamed, temporary as it might be, Izaya's smirk deepened and he plucked the cigarette from Shizuo's hold. Not quiet sure why he was doing this-except knowing that this was the perfect opportunity to troll the blonde, what with Shizu-chan effectively useless (yes, yes; no matter the fact that it was only a temporary thing) beneath his knife-the broker brought the cigarette up to his own mouth, taking a drag from the cigarette. He breathed in deep and exhaled, letting the smoke trickle out in a almost silky-looking mist from slightly parted lips.

"Shizu-chan should know by now that if he isn't willing to indulge me when I'm bored, I'm then forced to find my own form of entertainment~" Izaya said conversationally, seeming to answer the blonde's bewildered statement-and yet not. Very, very much not. He smirked again, reveling in this rare chance at utterly dominating Ikebukuro's beast, and took another drag from Shizuo's cigarette before nimbly tapping the other man's chin to force the blonde to tilt his head back further; leaning down, Izaya did the most unexpected thing, a thing that made Shizuo's eyes widen to epic proportions, pupils dilated in complete and utter shock: the flea kissed him.

Izaya's lips were surprisingly soft against Shizuo's own, tongue stroking against the blonde's bottom lip in a surprisingly polite request for Shizuo to part his lips so that the kiss could deepen. When the blonde didn't immediately comply, however… the flick blade pressed tighter against Shizuo's artery, and the taller man (grudgingly) allowed Izaya entrance into his mouth. Their tongues stroked idly, languidly, as lazy as Shizuo's posture had been before Izaya had made his presence known. The brunette exhaled then, breathing out the smoke from his held breath and letting it slip from his mouth to Shizuo's: the smoke moved slowly, weaving about like a fog bank: thick and damp with the moisture from their collective breaths, trickling out at the kiss's corners to wreathe the men's heads like a twisted parody of a halo.

When the kiss broke, just enough for Izaya's lips to brush against Shizuo's as he spoke, the informant smirk oozed sex and decadence as he murmured, "If Shizu-chan is able to catch me the next time he chases me, I'll give him something else to suck on other than some nasty old cigarette~"

The brunette laughed gaily at that, finally withdrawing his flick blade; tossing the cigarette into Shizuo's already overflowing ash tray, the expression that he tossed to the dumbfounded blonde also happened to ooze superiority. As Izaya's words sunk into Shizuo's brain, the blonde's face slowly began to redden, the flame of embarrassment (and interest, though he'd be dead before he ever admitted that) burning bright. And yet, it wasn't much longer until:

"_IZAYA-KUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!_"

An all-too familiar cackle drifted through the night, soon enough followed by the equally familiar sound of something large and heavy thrown with deadly force slamming into a building (ineffectual in its purpose since the cackle started up immediately after) tore through the night.


	10. Chapter 10

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Mairu/Kururi  
><em>Rating:<em> R  
><em>Prompt:<em> Izaya giving Mairu oral. I want this filled SO bad...oh and um...tomorrow is my birthday  
><em>WARNING:<em> incest

* * *

><p><strong>Hands On<strong>

:

Izaya had always been complimented for having a silvered tongue, sweet and cloying and oh-so talented at spinning tales that were easily believed. He was rather good at lying, as well, words falling like petals from a flower with each movement of his lips. The point was: Izaya was _good_ with lips and tongue and teeth.

This was a statement that Mairu could very much agree with.

She shuddered, body arching off of the bed and back bowed, as Iza-nii's tongue flicked teasingly over her clit and his eyes never once looked away from the trembling of her body, the way that her limbs quivered before steadying enough to reach out for Kururi; she drew her sister close, shifting just enough to tug her twin down, sprawling halfway over Mairu's body.

"I want to have a kiss from Kuru-nee," she whispered, eyes wide and bright and blown with arousal, flashing from behind the lenses of her glasses. It was that moment that Izaya chose to seal his mouth over his sister's clitoris, suckling languidly on the small bud of nerves, and Mairu gave a soft cry in reaction to the surge of sudden, unexpected pleasure-and it was a cry that was quickly stifled when Kururi leaned in and brushed her mouth against her sister's.

Their kiss deepened slowly, each anticipating the other's pleasure, because they _knew_ each other better than they knew anyone else, and Kururi understood that there was no point in trying to quiet the low moan that eased between their parted, panting mouths as Mairu's hand slipped beneath her panties to rub and touch and caress in motions that echoed what Iza-nii was doing to _her_.

Izaya watched with a hooded gaze as his sisters kissed and touched one another, their caresses filled with an affection for one another that they rarely-if ever-felt towards him. It was acceptable, however, because it was that coldness towards him that made the twins so interesting, and though he'd never say it aloud, Izaya could admit to himself that it was his sisters who were perhaps his favorite of all humans to watch and understand and predict.

It was as he thought this that he eased two fingers into Mairu's wet heat, easing them in and out in a slow, lazy motion as his mouth continued to suckle at her most sensitive spot; her thighs parted in an unconscious gesture of welcome, of invitation, and Izaya _loved_ the vulnerability that Mairu never realized that she displayed when the siblings were like this: with chest rising and falling in quick, frantic pants as Izaya pushed her towards orgasm, her fingers scrabbled desperately over her twin's skin, clutching and clinging and trying her best to give Kururi pleasure, too, no matter the fact that she was distracted by Izaya's talented mouth.

They've done this enough times already that Izaya could now time the exact moment when Mairu finally neared the last edge, and he knew exactly what to do to force her orgasm upon her; this was the game that Izaya played with himself, played with his sisters: they'd never had all-out sex, but knowing that he can play Mairu and Kururi like a string brought a sense of smug satisfaction to the informant-knowing their most intimate weaknesses, how to _break _them to leave both girls a limp mess, sprawled out upon their bed and sleepy from pleasure.

He waited, always, for this moment and when it finally approached, his fingers pushed deep and spread apart so that Mairu would suddenly feel filled in the way that no other boy had yet managed to do-pushing and pushing so that there was a little bit of pain to that pleasure, and suddenly Mairu was shuddering and spasming around his fingers, thighs tensing as she fought the urge to clench them greedily around Izaya's torso. It wasn't much long after that Kururi was arching against Mairu's touch, whimpering quietly against her sister's throat as she clung to Mairu and rode out her own climax.

The girls' skin was slightly dewed with sweat, and they watched with sleepy, contented gazes as Izaya pushed himself up to a sitting position, licking his lips to rid himself of Mairu's taste. He smiled gaily down at the twins before cheerfully leaning down to kiss each on the forehead. "Good night, Mairu, Kururi~" he caroled softly and crawled his way out from the tangle of sheets and girls, traipsing cheerfully towards their bedroom door. They ignored him, per usual, in favor for cuddling with one another.

And that was that-for now.


	11. Chapter 11

_Pairing:_ Shizuo/Izaya [Izaya topping from bottom]_  
>Rating:<em> R_  
>Prompt:<em> Shizaya - Country drawl, Mud Wrestling, Tractor kink, Truck smex (inside or on the hood ahaha) Southern and Northern culture differences

* * *

><p><strong>Cowboy Up<strong>

:

It was a small sort of town, smack-dab in the middle of the Bible Belt. It was the type of place where everybody knew everyone else's business, and the smallest bit of gossip managed to circulate through the townsfolk three times over before the farmers started coming in for the night. It was a homey sort of place, tiny enough that no map that Izaya had ever seen actually listed his home as existing, and it was the quiet pace that each day meandered into that had the claret-eyed teen dreaming of the big city.

He _craved_ the furious rhythm that city people stepped into day after day, each hour presenting them with something new and unique. He wanted the _excitement_ that this small town wasn't capable of providing. People here enjoyed the country life: liked knowing who their neighbors were, liked having weekend get-togethers, each family stopping by and bringing some gift or another-usually homebaked goods, fresh out of the oven and wafting delicious scents through the house. It was a relaxed, easy sort of existence, but Izaya still couldn't help but feel a spike of resentment at the fact that the only exciting thing that _really _happened each year was the country fair and rodeo.

People would come in from all over the country-to go on the rides or set up booths to sell their wares, families coming in from everywhere to visit distant cousins that they hadn't been able to see for months, men setting up tractor races to be able to have bragging rights for the rest of the year, horses brought in to sell or trade, farm livestock filling up the different pens until only a cacophony of sound remained.

It was the rodeo, however, that Izaya liked best.

(Mainly because, starting the year before, he had set up an underground betting pool.)

And it was the rodeo this year that lured Izaya out near the fields where the fair and arena were being set up, straddling over one of the fences that marked the very edge of the property. He and Shinra watched as the newcomers made their way through the different equipment, heading over towards the sign-up booth for those who wanted to participate in the different rodeo acts. Many of them rode horses, all of them wearing deep-seated Western saddles that were a dime a dozen around here; most of the cowboys coming in to enter into the rodeo were various workers at the ranches scattered in between the different farms-experienced in whatever competition they were signing up for, though Izaya knew that it would be the bull riding that would draw the least amount of participants.

It was the same every year-and that's why the money was _best _there.

So he and Shinra remained sitting on the fence, trying to figure out ahead of time who was doing what category (some contestants were easy enough to pinpoint: cowboys had to be proficient enough with their lassoes to be able to pull down cattle, catching at legs or other limbs, knowing their knots well because a mistake could turn deadly out in the field-and it was that competition that always had the _most_ participants; sometimes, too, the competitors for the barrel races were spotted right off the bat: with horses that were nimble on their feet, small and quick, _fast _enough to get the best times). It was while they were discussing the options for the various contestants that one caught Izaya's eye, dark head turning to inspect the newcomer more closely.

Another cowboy-but, then again, they _all_ were-coming in through the dust fields and riding on a spirited Appaloosa that watched everything around her with an intelligent eye. Her rider lightly tapped her sides, easing her into a ground-eating canter, and Izaya could see burnished blonde hair underneath a dust black Stetson. Faded Levi's hugged calves and thighs, well worn and comfortable looking in the only way that constantly used jeans could truly be-and when Izaya didn't see the typical lasso around the saddle's horn, he found his interest _piqued_.

"What about him?" Shinra asked, glancing between Izaya and the blonde cowboy, pushing up his glasses with a practiced gesture. He _saw_ the considering, weighing, _interested _look that Izaya gave to the blonde man, and Shinra had to fight hard to hide a smug smirk, pleased that his observations over the course of the years were finally baring fruition. "What category do you think he's going to enter in? Barrel racing?"

Izaya paused at the question, considering it over as he continued watching the newcomer. As if sensing the brunette's gaze on him, the blonde cowboy glanced over his shoulder, meeting Izaya's claret gaze with his own bright amber, and he _grinned_, bright and sharp and _feral_ enough that Izaya found his breath hitching in the best way possible. "…no," the would-be gambling leader finally said, answering Shinra's question after a moment of too-telling silence. "Bull riding."

:

Shizuo's legs gave out from underneath him, shaky and weak as Izaya rocked against him, rubbing his hard cock against the blonde's own; the younger teen's hands fumbled at the zipper to Shizuo's jeans, tugging it down as they both went tumbling to the floor-Shizuo because Izaya's touch was _just that good _and Izaya because he had no other choice with legs wrapped firmly around the cowboy's waist.

Izaya's breath fanned over Shizuo's throat, damp and hot and spicy, and the blonde didn't bother hiding the shudder at the sensation-and didn't bother trying to stifle the husky-edged _moan_, as heady to Izaya as perfectly aged Jack and going straight to his cock the way that the alcohol would have gone to his head. "Never did… congratulate you on winning," Izaya murmured with a bit back laugh-he had managed to make _bank _with the winnings he had got off of Shizuo-and coupled his words (the so-called "congratulations") with a slow stroke of his fingers, palm calloused and too warm against the cowboy's erection.

Shizuo huffed quietly in answer, muttering out a, "Just shut the hell up and kiss me, darlin'," before his mouth crashed against the darker-haired teen's, and all that was left to them was touch and taste and wet, tight _heat _as bodies rocked and flexed and came to life beneath the other's touch. It was rough and perfect because of it, the straw beneath them scratchy against their skin.

From the corner of his eye, Izaya could see a bumper sticker on one of the tractors, snickering quietly at the irony before leaning in to bite down hard at the curve of Shizuo's shoulder, leaving behind a dark mark that spoke as clear as day _Mine_ to anyone who might end up seeing him for any reason, and it was with that bumper sticker in mind that the brunette _rolled_, straddling possessively over the blonde's hips.

_Save a Horse. Ride a Cowboy._


	12. Chapter 12

_Pairing:_ Mikado/Masaomi  
><em>Rating:<em> R  
><em>Prompt:<em> Mikado/Kida - Sexual movements  
>Straight from the list of kinks: sexual movements (back arching; hips lifting; thrusting back; writhing, jerking, bucking; clenching; grinding or rocking; trembling or shivering; hooking legs around shoulders; pressing someone's legs back toward the bed; riding someone's fingers).<br>Basically, Kida bottoming, with emphasis on the above~

* * *

><p><strong>Amatory Dynamism<strong>

:

It does not take long for Mikado to realize that Masaomi is beautiful.

He has always had sharp features, eyes that perpetually slanted in fox-like slyness and with secrets that lay shadowed at the corners of his mouth. Masaomi has always been quick, movements cutting through the air with a grace that directly contradicted the awkward stumbling of his words-and Mikado can't help but smile at the dichotomy because Masaomi's movements are elegant enough that he can never truly bring himself to look away, contrasting starkly with the words that the blonde lets flight through the air, but it is the calculating, intelligent gleam that remains through it all, the barest glimpse caught at the _perfect_ moment-it is that sight that has always taken Mikado's breath away.

Now, though, the sharpness has dulled and shifted into the seductive press of velvet, and the easy grace that Masaomi carries with him has been burned to ashes, leaving only the taste of ash and the temptation of pure erotica. It is a sight that oftentimes leaves Mikado breathless, blue-gray eyes wide and pupils blown in desire, and it is a sight that also oftentimes leaves Mikado craving _more_.

His hands caress over the sharp, winged arches of Masaomi's hipbones, and there is a quiet, muted hitch of breath; Mikado glances up, gaze catching with Masaomi's, and the blonde teen parts his thighs in a gesture that leaves beads of sweat trickling down the brunette's spine as Masaomi _arches_, back bowing with just the barest hint of a shudder as Mikado slides his hands upwards once more, towards the juncture of his legs.

There is no need for words between them: Mikado _knows_ that the quickened breath that makes Masaomi's chest rise and fall in a rhythm that echoes the pounding of his own heart is as loud as a broken, edged moan begging him to press slickened fingers into him, breaching past that so-familiar tight ring of muscle-and then Masaomi is rocking back onto Mikado's fingers. His breath stutters out into silent gasps, lips parting and irises going dull and blank with desire, and his hips _lift_ and _thrust_ back, and Masaomi _rides _that little bit of Mikado, easing the darker-haired teen's fingers deeper within himself with each undulating movement of his body.

When Mikado's fingers finally brush against his prostate, Masaomi's body clenches tight, greedily, around Mikado's fingers as he jerks, limbs twitching at the sudden surge of pleasure, and the blonde softly cries out: muted and muffled because he's cupped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound, and Mikado can't help but feel _glad _for it because he's selfish and doesn't want anyone else to hear through the too-thin walls of his tiny apartment.

He doesn't ever want anyone to _see_, either, the way that Masaomi spreads his thighs wider still, gesture lewdly attractive in a silent demand for _more more, please, more_ and writhes with lust that throbs through each corner of his body as Mikado adds in a third finger and then a fourth-the last unnecessary, and Mikado is aware of this, but he loves watching the way that Masaomi stills suddenly as the blue-eyed teen works in that last finger, eyes going impossibly wide before he reaches up to brace his hands against the leg of a table or desk or wall-doesn't matter, just as long as the object is solid enough-and rocks back, _hard_, and a barely-audible whimper continuously mirrors each and every movement down, each press of Mikado's fingers to his prostate-and Masaomi loses himself to heady, mind-numbing pleasure.

Masaomi is not far enough gone, however, to be unable and incapable of voicing his dissatisfaction in a disgruntled whine when Mikado finally withdraws his fingers, slipping them from Masaomi's body with a sound that _shouldn't _be appealing, but really, really is-a sentiment that Masaomi agrees with if the way that his body convulses and clamps down on something that is no longer there can be used as an indicator.

There is something that brightens hungrily in that vulpine-like gaze when Mikado murmurs "Up." and has to repeat it twice because the first time is nothing more than a husky, incomprehensible sound. But Masaomi finally lifts his legs, small tremors quivering through the blonde's thighs and calves, and Mikado can _feel_ those nearly-invisible movements as he hooks Masaomi's legs over his shoulders and suddenly presses the other's back to the floor beneath them both, pinning the blonde in place as he thrusts forward in one smooth, now-familiar movement, and he pushes and pushes and _pushes _and then there is heat:

Masaomi's hands scrabble desperately over Mikado's arms, clutching and clinging and searching for something to center himself to as his body _tights_ and _clenches_ and greedily takes hold of Mikado, shuddering and trying to _move_, but restrained by the position-and yet Masaomi still manages to spread himself wider to welcome Mikado _deeper_:

And Mikado's gaze is caught with Masaomi's own as they begin to _move_.


	13. Chapter 13

_Pairing:_ Aoba/Mikado  
><em>Rating:<em> PG  
><em>Prompt:<em> So Aoba is pretty clearly associated with sharks and water, and then volume 9 tells us about the awesome swimming pool at Raira.  
>And I can't stop thinking of this: www[dot]zerochan[dot]net269999  
>So basically the boys being total freaks and oddly romantic in their own way, at the pool for some reason. Unending love for creepy symbolic-ish almost-drowning (accidental or not) (like nffffff). Don't care if there's no smut as long as Mikado is his freaky self.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Breathe Me In<strong>

:

Mikado's steps are ponderously slow as he makes his way towards the pool's edge. He takes his time, tilting his face up towards the wide-open sky that stretches out beyond the windows to enjoy the warmth of the sun upon his skin, its heat bearing down like a golden blanket about his head and shoulders, magnified that much more by the glass.

Summer is coming, and Mikado feels the perfection of the moment stretching out before him like the approaching months-heady and snail-like in its pace and filled overflowing with the muted hum of cicadas and the heavy press of humidity in the air.

There is a splash from Raira's pool, situated somewhere around the deep end, and Mikado turns his attention towards that one area, feet once more moving to lead him in that direction. It is early enough in the day that there is no one else in the echoing expanse of the pool's enclosure: they are alone, and Mikado finds that… fitting.

The splashes stop as he comes closer to the edge of the pool, and soon enough Aoba pulls himself slightly up and out of the water, forearms resting comfortably on the concrete as he watches the older teen make his way over. There is a bright, happy smile on Aoba's face, lighting him up and making him _shine_, but it is the cold, calculating glint that remains in his eyes that finally makes Mikado smile in turn.

"Sempai~" the younger teen carols, voice lilting in a surprisingly child-like way; but it is a facade, and they both know it-though Aoba still refuses to drop the act around Mikado, taking advantage of the fact that _this _is the mask that complements the elder so well. "I didn't know that you liked visiting Raira's pool, too! Are you thinking about joining the Swimming Club?"

Mikado's smile deepens at that, knowing as well as Aoba does that that is most definitely not the reason why he has come to the pool. The blue-eyed sempai knows that Aoba visits it often, especially when others aren't around-he can do whatever he wants when there is no supervision, open in a way that most of his games keep him from being.

It is the game, however, that brings Mikado here this morning: they keep their individual masks around each other, knowing full well what lies beneath, but it is the rules of the game between them both that Aoba has challenged with his actions, and Mikado has come to find out _why_. Mikado kneels at the pool's wayside, reaching out to curl his fingers around Aoba's throat, tightening just barely-not enough to bruise because then other people will see, but enough to stay as a warning, as well: Mikado has hurt Aoba before when he tired of the boy's games, and the gesture was a reminder of that for the younger of the two.

"Why?" he asks, simply.

It is a letter that prompts the question: not a threatening letter or one filled with a list of events and facts to be used later on for blackmail. It is not a letter full of hate and resentment, and it is not any number of other types of letters-but it is, however, a letter of confession. It is unadorned and written in such a way to garner the best type of reaction from Mikado even despite the fact that Aoba had sent it to the blue-eyed teen's Dollars' account. It is the last line, however, that strikes something deep within Mikado and it is that line that encourages him to seek Aoba out.

Aoba's smile brightens and becomes the hidden heart of a star at the question, and he reaches up to twine his arms around Mikado's neck. The touch at his own throat is enough to make him press harder into it, _wanting_ bruises caused by his sempai, and Aoba says while that calculating glint in his eyes just turns glacial in temperature, "I like sempai."

His lips brush softly against Mikado's, and the elder's fingers flex instinctively in answer, fingernails digging into the thin skin at the bend of Aoba's throat, and the boy who smiles like an angel uses the hold that he has on Mikado to drag him down into the water.

The surface closes above their heads as they sink deeper and deeper, bodies becoming nothing more than useless, dead weight, and yet-still-they _kiss_.

* * *

><p><strong>Drink Me Down<strong>

:

There had always been something appealing about the unknown, something that continuously managed to draw Mikado in. It was the "underneath the underneath" that he was constantly searching for, digging through and sifting through the layers of strata so that he could finally reach the heart, what portrayed itself as "truth."

Even as a young boy, it was the mystery that appealed to him the most:

He and his family were vacationing in the Caribbean, everyone gathered around the front of the small yacht that they were renting-looking forward, towards their goal, their destination. The island wasn't far off in the distance-they would land there soon-but Mikado lingered at the back of the tiny ship. Settled on his belly, he couldn't resist peering over the edge to stare out into the ocean beneath them, wondering-dreaming of-what lay hidden within the cerulean blue depths.

It was a shimmer, however, that caught his attention, and Mikado's eyes widened when he saw movement-just barely on the edge of visible, keeping deep enough that the Japanese child was denied the chance to _see_. Curious, he leaned out further over the barely-there railing, arm reaching down to trail his fingers enticingly through the ocean water-hoping, maybe, to lure out whatever he had seen.

Movement again, this time closer to the surface, and it was with complete fascination that Mikado watched as a boy who looked only a little bit older than himself slowly rose up out of the water, crystal droplets clinging to long lashes, sparkling like diamonds beneath the tropical sun. The boy grinned at Mikado, a mouthful of razor sharp teeth gleaming up at him (like a _shark's_, Mikado couldn't help but think in awe), and it was strange, but… the Japanese boy didn't feel afraid.

Not even when the other reached up higher and tangled slightly webbed fingers in Mikado's short hair, clawed fingertips scraping lightly over the boy's scalp. Mikado held his breath, anticipation rising within him, and the other boy's grin deepened before pushing himself up higher out of the water with one strong sweep of his tail-and then they were _kissing_, Mikado's first _real_ kiss, and the fear still didn't come even when the creature (merboy?) tugged lightly at the back of Mikado's head so that he was _falling _forward, into the other's waiting arms-

The sea swallowed him whole, and Mikado could hear the distant screams of his family as they ran towards the back of the boat at seeing the splash of Mikado's body hitting the water, all hovering fearfully over the spot where he had fallen into the water, but the acknowledgment of his family's worry was distant; the ocean muffled the sounds and soon enough it didn't even matter anymore when the other boy twined his tail around Mikado's legs, gesture possessive, and down they sank beneath the waves.


	14. Chapter 14

_Pairing:_ Shizuo/Izaya; Izaya/Shizuo  
><em>Rating:<em> PG-13  
><em>Prompt:<em> Shizaya - kissing. Just some good ol' fashion mouth and tongue action :P

* * *

><p><strong>Enkindle<strong>

:

It burns, sets them alight.

The kiss always starts slow, just a soft fanning of breath against a mouth; he teases, eyes lion-dark in his tanned face, watching and waiting and poising himself for the perfect moment to strike as warm, mint-scented breath caresses over the other's mouth-taunting and just out of reach, waiting for that moment of _relent _that comes when fingers tangle in blonde locks, dragging him downwards.

Mouths finally clash, the kiss now a battlefield, brushing and retreating before finally surging forward to claim what is _his_, has always been his, and the unstated assumption is enough to force the claret-eyed man to bite back in retaliation, teeth harsh against sensitive skin-vicious enough to draw blood, but that was something that he had expected from the start. It's never the same, never _as good_ if there wasn't that small bit of retaliation in the beginning.

Victory is so much better when there's fury and blood and flashing eyes, all flavoring the taste that was as familiar as his own: his, his, his.

A tongue swipes then, licking away the small drop of crimson, and parts suddenly willing lips, plundering a mouth that's so wet, so hot, so _perfect_, and he feels an answering stirring from his cock. But the sudden craving to have _this mouth_ lower, somewhere else-the desire is set aside because, now, he wants nothing more than to taste and savor and claim again and again and again and _again_.

And as his tongue strokes against the other's, curling to press possessively against the roof of his mouth, he is rewarded with a soft moan-grudgingly given, to be sure, but given all the same. The brunette's tongue finally comes into play, challenging and cocky, pushing back his tongue so that he could, in turn, trace along the edges of the blonde's teeth, lingering in (once more grudgingly given) fascination over a small chip in a tooth, tongue's tip flicking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until it took everything within him to keep himself from finally just pinning down that too-skinny body and pushing towards that final conclusion.

But it starts, as always, with _a kiss_:

Wetter, lips covered in saliva and with mouths slowly, torturously sliding against one another's; neither willing to break the kiss, not for breath, not for words, not for anything-because pulling away means that it's _too intense_ and neither likes losing. Especially to the other. So they kiss and kiss and _kiss_, slow and hot and heavy, breath steaming between them as their mouths search for that one particular angle, that one particular glide of tongue, that one particular lewd suck on a lower lip that would finally make the other's breath hitch and stutter, body shuddering and finally giving those two words that are just as good as running up that white flag:

_Fuck me._


	15. Chapter 15

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Shizuo_  
>Rating:<em> R_  
>Prompt:<em> Prompt from kinkmeme - Shizuo/Izaya - Bloodplay  
>Izaya loves his knife and Shizuo loves when Izaya uses that knife to carve little drawing on his body after sex. It calms Shizuo down and Izaya loves feeling the scars when they heal up.<br>Lots of Izaya playing canvas with Shizuo's body~ and sexual stimulation from pain + feeling scars.

* * *

><p><strong>Proprietary Rights<strong>

:

He is on his stomach, drifting in the muted, faraway place between dreaming and consciousness, and he only stirs briefly as he feels the cool, flat edge of the flickblade caress down his spine. The blonde shivers, lashes lifting briefly enough so that warm amber can watch the other over the tanned curve of a shoulder: lazy and warm as he sprawls in the bed-and yet he cannot stop that quiet hitch of breath, the tensing of anticipating as Izaya straddles over his lower back. The bed dips down beneath their combined weight, and Shizuo's hips pin to the mattress beneath their bodies.

The blonde can't help but shiver as the flickblade slowly begins to skim its way upwards once more, the chill of the blade's touch almost immediately followed after by open-mouthed kisses from the brunette: hot and wet with just the barest hint of teeth, the threat always, _always _there: It'd be so easy to swallow you whole.

They are both silent except for the way that Shizuo's breath stutters as he gasps quietly when Izaya gets to a thick scar that crosses over his back-from shoulder to the opposite hip-and it is there that the brunette pauses, tongue darting out to lick his teasing way upwards over the blemish. It is an ugly scar, stark white and as pale as a fish's underbelly against his tanned skin, but Shizuo has never given it much thought: it is only one of many that litter his body, his skin a canvas for _this_ particular painter's brand of _art_.

"Shizu-chan is mine. Aren't you~?"

Shizuo's answering moan is a quiet agreement, body arching up off of the bed, wanting more attention-wanting that mouth, the way that Izaya's teeth fix in the curve of a shoulder, drawing blood from the possessive touch. And the blonde rocks his hips against the pain, arching so much like a cat does into a caress, trying to milk every last bit of affection from its owner, and he is so incredibly greedy for that much more.

There is a rumbling growl against Shizuo's skin, dark and possessive and _his_ in turn, and there is no point in hiding the feeling of smug satisfaction as Izaya rocks his own hips against the curve of the blonde's ass, cock hard and _hot_ and-then, _there_, motion so smooth from countless numbers of times they've done this before-Izaya slips a knee between the blonde's thighs, parting them and settling _just so_ between them, and then he is finally, _finally _pushing past the tight ring of muscle at Shizuo's entrance, thrusting forward and burying himself balls deep.

With that one motion of his body, there is a feeling of fullness, of completion, of _perfection_ as Izaya settles back to flex his hips in small movements, each subtle roll of his hips hitting Shizuo's prostate with a precision that has him shuddering and rocking back, pushing back in some instinctive, delirious desire for _more_, more more more, always and forever _more_.

It is something so undeniably perfect about the way that Izaya's laugh is cut off abruptly as he clenches around the cock in him, the trembling way that the brunette's fingers smooth over one scar before moving to the next, touches that one might have called "loving" if they were anyone else but _them_. This dance that they do with one another is old, skirting past vocalized attachments-and yet, there _is_ something there, something deeper and unstated as Shizuo once again allows Izaya to place the flickblade's edge to his skin, its razor sharpness parting his skin all while Izaya continues his small, controlled thrusts into him.

The scent of blood, coppery and tangy-sweet, fills the air, trickling over Shizuo's shoulder and sides to soak the white sheets beneath them, the crimson tainting the once-virginal color with something so much more _visceral_: the liquid is sticky and clings to the blonde, hot against already fevered skin, soon enough becoming tacky as the cuts continue onwards-deep enough that Shizuo knows that, once more, there will be scars that will pattern over the canvas of his skin.

He does not orgasm, though-

Not until Shizuo glances sidelong in the mirror by Izaya's bed, gaze catching on the brunette's latest artwork-and sees Izaya's name, raw and stark and _red_ cut into the meat of his shoulder. It is only then that Shizuo comes against the sheets beneath his belly, coating thighs and stomach with his release, _helpless_ before the surge of pleasure and of insatiable delight that takes him and drags him under. He clenches and tightens around the informant, over and over and over again, and he can feel Izaya's own rough-edged orgasm-the third of that night-as he comes deep and hard, still buried to the hilt; Izaya does not come with a cry or a shout of pleasure, but with a husky snarl as his teeth bite down at the nape of Shizuo's neck, a single word discernible within the guttural sound:

"_Mine._"


	16. Chapter 16

_Note:_ Pretty much dedicated to **Sanjuku** since it was her fill _Down Payment_ (drrrkink[dot]livejournal[dot]com/4952[dot]html?thread=16885848) that inspired this, anyway~ (And can't deny it this time, darling. XD) On a different note, however, _Down Payment_ is absolutely gorgeous and amazing and will completely blow you away—so go and read that instead of this. Because it'll be worth it, trust me. :P –hearts-

* * *

><p><em>Pairing:<em> Izaya/Kida_  
>Rating: <em>R_  
>Prompt:<em> Izaya/Kida – fingering

* * *

><p><strong>Price and Value<strong>

:

It is not about the pleasure.

It has _never_ been about the pleasure-not really, not truly, because Izaya does not desire Masaomi in that particular way. There is something all-too human about the teen, something dark and hidden behind bright, happy smiles: but there is also something so incredibly _broken_ about Masaomi, as well, and it is this aspect of the blonde that intrigues the informant the most.

Izaya wonders, idly and with a sharp-edged smile, just what it would take to finally break him completely.

The pushing and prodding and critical analysis of Masaomi: _that_ is what these exchanges are all about, information given and compensation for services rendered; Izaya is the best at what he does, and he knows that Masaomi is aware of this. It is the only reason why the blonde returns time after time after time, bargaining for the knowledge that he does not have but Izaya does. And he pays the price that Izaya places upon each and every word, though it crumbles something within him to do so. And it's a _fascinating_ process, watching a human slowly unravel, and the brunette is curious to see just how much longer it will take before Masaomi finally shatters.

He wonders, absently, if it will be this time that Masaomi breaks: the despair within those eyes is nearly soul wrenching as Izaya holds a hand up to the blonde's mouth, slipping fingers into slick heat the moment that the other parts his lips. It's humiliating for Masaomi, Izaya knows. But, then again, _that's why he does it._

The teen's tongue curls around Izaya's pale fingers, meticulously wetting them-something to be expected since Izaya is planning on using three fingers for this particular 'down payment,' experimenting, willing to bet that the greater feeling of _intrusion_, of _invasion _will be what makes Masaomi crumble just a little bit more this time around. It's anticipation of what was to come that has him accidentally clipping a tooth with his ring, but it is the dread that fills Masaomi's eyes in turn that makes Izaya pause. A glance at his ring and he mentally weighs weathering keeping it on will further help him in gaining what he wants.

When the informant slips the ring off with a graceful gesture, Masaomi's relief is tangible.

_Ah~ Now, that just won't do._

Izaya does not try to be gentle as he pushes that first finger past the blonde's tight entrance, and he in fact purposefully angles that merciless digit so that it _burns _as it breaches the ring of muscle before finally easing completely within the heat of Masaomi's body. The blonde's head bows and Izaya can hear Masaomi grit his teeth, hoping-perhaps-to ride out this transaction without ever having to admit through wordless cries that, yes, this did feel good no matter how hard he always tries to fight.

Masaomi's stubborn reluctance, the _rejection_ of the pleasure, of Izaya, of the informant's presence within his body: it is all of these things and more that sends a thrill of delight up Izaya's spine, of languid, cat-got-the-canary satisfaction that settles deep within his belly despite the fact that his cock never stirs.

_It is not about the pleasure._

Instead, these transactions are all about the small furrow that eventually, inevitably appears between Masaomi's brows, the teeth that can no longer remain clenched together because they instead need to catch at a lower lip; it is _necessary_ because, otherwise, Masaomi will cry out, body betraying him in the worst way possible, and it will be an admission that his enjoys this physically even if he doesn't mentally-even if he will never admit it aloud in words. That first _gasp_, that muted _whimper_: these sounds are all that Izaya needs to _know _that this feels good for Masaomi.

And when the blonde's hips rock as Izaya adds in a third finger, slim digits mercilessly tormenting Masaomi's prostate, spreading just enough to give an illusion of fullness-the small betrayals that Masaomi's body gives away… these are all part of the coinage that Izaya forces Masaomi to pay in, but it is the gratifying mix of stubbornness and unwanted lust that twists the gang leader's face and Izaya can finally _see_the pain in more than just brief flickers of expression…

This is his payment, finally made.

He waits until Masaomi is almost at climax-almost, almost, _almost_-before offering up a tidbit of information that the other wouldn't ever think that he already knew (because Masaomi was still a silly boy when all was said and done, never realizing just how much his eyes spoke and just how _much_ Izaya noticed about his beloved humans), and it is right as Masaomi begins to clench around Izaya's fingers in a telling, familiar way that the informant finally murmurs, "I wonder what your friend Mikado-kun would think of you now."

As horror and despair and _fear_ dawns in Masaomi's eyes, the thought _How does he know about Mikado? How could he possibly know about Mikado?_ darting like silver-lined fish deep in the recesses of the blonde's wide-eyed gaze, Izaya cannot help but smile, the gesture as razored, as sharp as his flickblade. He pulls his fingers from the teen's body, not bothering to be gentle, and the resulting flinch is yet another successful strike geared to bring Masaomi crumbling down-a reminder that there is nothing truly intimate in these transactions, no matter how Masaomi's body succumbed to the touches. It is a pointed reminder that the man who had brought Masaomi to orgasm is _not_ the man that the blonde wanted-the man that Izaya himself is aware of, and that, Izaya knows, is what makes this all that much more _cruel_ and _heart-breaking_.

It is not about the pleasure.

For Izaya, it is all about the chance to watch one of his beloved humans _break_: completely, utterly.

_This_ was the whole point of knowing the difference between the price and the value.


	17. Chapter 17

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Shizuo_  
>Rating:<em> …PG? R?_  
>Prompt:<em> Art, it is said, always break from old tradition and flies off to open rebellion against the old, thus, I want Sexual Intercourse between any two individual expressed as Subtly as possible. If the readers doesn't even realise what has happen, all the better.

* * *

><p><strong>Umbratic Communion<strong>

:

Time moved slowly through the moonlight gilded edges of the room, each moment ticking by and stretching out into a precious, stilled slice of eternity: the hourglass' sand trickled away, standing as a silent testimony for each passing era.

The shadows shifted upon the muted canvas of the wall, merging and drawing away, intimate dances veiled with obscurity as clouds skittered their way across the night sky; every single, stand-alone motion managed to time itself with each passing second: a rhythmic, pulsing pattern that stretched through the night as the moon made her idle way across the sky, belly pregnant and heavy with expectations and promises. Meandering through the onyx-dark cosmos high above the cityscape that became a starfield of heaven-on-earth, the midnight hour came and went, and still the shadows continued to dance throughout the night.

As the moon finally began to descend towards the horizon and as dawn approached, the shadows dwindled down to insubstantial wraiths and slipped away with the twilight: the rhythm broken; as the rest of the world began to awaken from its slumber, umbra finally quieted its heady communion, shadows untangling from one another and fading away as dawn broke over the curve of the earth.

There was stillness. There was completion.


	18. Chapter 18

_Pairing:_ Izaya/Shizuo  
><em>Rating:<em> PG-13  
><em>Prompt:<em> Shizuo/Izaya - Shizu-chan without his hair dyed. He didn't have time/couldn't be bothered/ran out? idk, but Izaya probably confused at first but finds it really attractive?  
>Refs for inspiration's sake:<br>www[dot]zerochan[dot]net/602383  
>www[dot]zerochan[dot]net602386

* * *

><p><strong>Wolf In…<strong>

:

_There is something __**wrong**_, Izaya can't help but begin to think to himself as he watches the scene unfold through the binoculars that he presses to his eyes. Ikebukuro sprawls out beneath his gaze, but there is only one "person" in particular that Izaya can't help but keep his attention on. _There is something __**wrong**__ in Shizuo trying to ape normal_.

Whether it is from sheer laziness or an attempt to try a different look (which is doomed to fail before he ever even started it since the beast _still _is wearing those bartending clothes), Shizuo is walking through the streets of his city without the blonde hair that usually sets him apart-a sort of neon-bright warning signal to others, as Tom had once suggested years ago, to let others know "I am exceedingly dangerous."

And yet… even with all of his derision towards the one-time blonde, the thoughts on how Shizuo is barely able to ape humanity-despite the disgust that Izaya can't help but feel towards the protozoan that has haunted his days and thoughts equally since high school… the informant cannot help but think that Shizuo looks _good_ with the darker hair.

It is a thought that brings the binoculars down, that curls Izaya's mouth into a discontented scowl, and he lightly taps the binoculars against one slim thigh; this is a realization that he can very much do without: the _knowing_ that something within Ikebukuro's beast _appeals_ to him is an idea that fills the informant with distaste, and Izaya's expression darkens even further.

This is _not_ a thought that he wants to have.

…and yet, then again, neither is the brief stirring of something hot, something _ugly_ that settles within his chest as he watches Shizuo order a drink from a stand on the side of the corner and the young, pretty employee glances up at him, starts in surprise, and then _smiles_. Izaya brings his binoculars back up into place as he _watches _the young girl make Shizuo's drink, hands fluttering like the graceful wings of a butterfly, sneaking smiling glances up at the now-brunette as she very obviously flirts with Shizuo. It is not the flirting, however, that darkens that ugly feeling within Izaya's chest, however; the flirting doesn't matter, not in the long run, but it is most assuredly the way that Shizuo blushes in embarrassment and glances away before offering a tentative smile that deepens the informant's moue of discontent.

Izaya does not ask himself why he is doing this-the thought is, again, one that he does not want to deal with and the urge to interrupt this _exchange _is more than enough for the mahogany-eyed man to acknowledge-but it is not long after that Izaya is putting his binoculars back into a jacket pocket and making his traipsing way down the set of stairs that leads out to the street below.

Shizuo notices Izaya almost immediately, head jerking to the side and eyes lighting the way that they _only_ do for the informant. A feral, dangerous smile flashes across the face, and Izaya takes the moment to be _satisfied_ in the way that the pretty young girl flinches away from Shizuo at the sight of it; _this_ is the beast's true nature, the face that he carries within and that Izaya can so easily draw out into public. Izaya smirks in answer, taunting silently as he leans one hip against a sign post-one of the very few in Ikebukuro that Shizuo _hasn't_ already torn up.

The reminder is enough for Shizuo's temper to snap, and he snarls with utter fury; he darts forward, tendons within his hands flexing with each and every flex of his hands, and they have done this dance so many times before that Izaya doesn't bother keeping attention on Shizuo's hands-they will do as they always have done before, but it is the beast's _face_ that gives him away, that clues Izaya in on his intent. A shift of expression, a sudden twisted snarl, and it is then that Izaya knows to _duck_ and _dodge_ and _leap_ where it is harder for Shizuo to aim.

They play a game of cat and mouse, of tag where Shizuo is always "it" because Izaya thinks that no other role truly suits the now-brunette, through Ikebukuro's streets and alleyways; the city is a maze that opens up before them, these two men traveling down its paths so many times before that they have learned-years ago-the labyrinth's secrets. The informant slips into an alley that dead-ends, and it is only now that Shizuo finally slows and comes to a stop, rightly suspecting a trap.

"Shizu-chan, Shizu-chan, Shizu-chan~" Izaya begins with a light spin on his foot before settling himself. Body language relaxed, he just tucks his hands into his pockets in a familiar gesture that Shizuo keeps one eye on; the informant's flickblade never takes too long to appear, and Izaya enjoys switching its placement between the two pockets so that Shizuo is never quite sure which one it's currently hiding in. For all the danger that Shizuo knows that he's in, however, he only scowls darkly at the informant's chiding tone. "You should know by now that a beast is never worthy a human's affection, ne~"

For the first time since they had begun this dance, Shizuo pauses and the expression that he tosses Izaya is riddled with confusion. "…what the hell are you talking about, flea?" he snaps, irritated and _confused_ at what the informant might mean; he had just wanted to order a drink and then Izaya had shown up to ruin his day, per usual.

Izaya, in turn, tsks. It is rather frustrating, he thinks, when the protozoan is being particularly obtuse-whether on purpose or not doesn't matter to the informant, only the fact that Shizuo doesn't _get it_. His unhappy moue deepens and blackens just a bit, and Izaya _looks _at the debt collector with eyes that have gone serious and narrowed 'till just a gleam of garnet glitters from beneath the line of his lashes.

He steps closer to Shizuo and, still keeping an eye on Izaya's hands, the amber-eyed man takes a step backwards and away from the threat that the informant was making himself out to be. Gone is the harmless "I'm so innocent~" smiles, the congenial facade that so very few are able to truly see through: with eyes that are so very fox-like in nature, Izaya continues moving forward until he's managed to corner the debt collector in one part of the alleyway.

"Shizu-chan shouldn't let humans look at him in certain ways," comes the simple reply.

Shizuo just _gapes_. "Seriously, flea, what the hell is _wrong_ with-" he manages to start but not finish because Izaya is suddenly swiping a hand through the air and, though Shizuo has gotten better at dodging as the years pass, he is not yet good enough to escape unscathed. Izaya's flickblade cuts through the thin material of his shirt, slicing it open in a gesture of cosmic irony: distant echoes from their first meeting. Blood trickles down Shizuo's chest and he _knows _that he's just gained another scar, but the frustration and the rage fall to the wayside as he feels the too-familiar press of cool metal against his jugular.

The debt collector stills instantly, leonine eyes flashing angrily beneath his now-dark hair.

Smiling brightly at the trapped beast, Izaya continues, "Shizu-chan shouldn't let humans look at him in certain ways. Certainly, he doesn't _deserve_ those expressions-and nothing this protozoan can do will ever be enough to _earn_ them, either. Ne?"

If anything, the comment is enough to make Shizuo's eyes darken with restrained fury at the continued insinuation that he is not _human_, this nickname of "monster" that Izaya has caroled through the years and has, just recently, gotten very, very tiring to hear. It comes as a surprise, however, when the informant lightly fans his fingers over the tips of Shizuo's dark hair, running fingers through the soft strands. It is a gesture that is completely uncharacteristic of him, and the shrewd glance that Shizuo suddenly gives to Izaya is just as equally strange as this entire scenario.

"I like you better as a blonde, Shizu-chan," Izaya comments, crimson eyes glittering.

"…you're jealous of that girl," Shizuo finally answers in turn, realization dawning in his eyes as they widen in shock, mouth dropping open because this is Izaya, here, threatening him because the other is _jealous_. The scenario is too surreal, too unexpected, and Shizuo is completely out of his depth-especially when the flickblade presses that much firmly to Shizuo's pulse point in a very real threat, and Izaya then _kisses him_ to silence any other too-true observations that the informant doesn't want to hear.

All the while, Izaya's fingers dance over the edges of Shizuo's dark hair.


End file.
